The Paths of the Dead (Viscount of Adrilankha) Read Online Free PDF

but—”
    “Yes?”
    “What is being consecrated?”
    “Your soul, to the goddess.”
    “Ah.”
    “Then you have no objection?”
    “None at all. One’s soul must do something, after all.”
    “That is true, though I had not thought of it in precisely those terms.”
    “And from this, I will get power?”
    “You will.”
    “And will there be a cost for this power?”
    “Of course.”
    “And that is? For it is always good to inquire as to the cost.”
    “Yes, I understand that. Well, the cost will be that you must serve the goddess.”
    “Oh, I have no qualms about serving her.”
    “It is good that you do not. Next, when you die—”
    “Yes?”
    “She will then have disposition of your soul.”
    “What happens when I die does not concern me excessively.”
    “That is good. Then can we begin?”
    “I nearly think so.”
    “Very well, then.”
    As to the exact nature of the ritual through which Arra led Morrolan, we must confess that it has not come down to us; indeed, even if it had, we would no more reveal its details than would a Discreet reveal the intimacies which had been confided to him. Yet we can say that the matter consumed several hours, and involved various rare herbs, long incantations, body paints of certain colors, some amount of blood from both participants; and was, as far as Morrolan was concerned, physically and emotionally exhausting. When it had at last been concluded, at very nearly the exact hour of midnight, Morrolan fell into a deep sleep, stretched out behind the stone altar.
    While he slept, Arra cleaned up the devices and material which had been used in the consecration, and, while she did so, Morrolan had a dream, which he later reported this way: “I was standing knee deep in a large, calm lake, that seemed to be Lake Vidro, only there were no trees along the shore, only large boulders. And as I stood there, I thought that I was looking for something, but I could not remember what it was. Then the water was disturbed, and a whistlefish broke through the surface and looked up at me, and it seemed that its eyes were two jewels, one green and the other red. After it had looked at me for a moment, it dived into the lake, and I knew I was to follow it. I did so, holding my breath, and under the water, which in my dream was very clear, I swam easily to the bottom, and there I saw, sticking in the sand at the bottom of the lake, surrounded by glittering light, a short black staff or wand. I took it in my hand, and it came away easily. I swam back toward the surface, which now seemed an impossible distance away, and I thought I should never make it, but at last, just as my lungs seemed ready to burst, I broke out onto the surface, and at that moment, I woke up, gasping for air.”
    This is how Morrolan tells the story of his dream of the black wand. We confess that Morrolan is capable of exaggeration, prevarication, disingenuousness, and making something up out of whole cloth, wherefore we cannot insist upon the truth of the matter.
    In any case, it was dawn when he emerged from the chapel, the Easterner called Arra behind him, Morrolan appearing pale and exhausted.
    Morrolan said, “What now?”
    “Well, how do you feel?”
    “How do I feel?”
    “Yes. Do you feel at all different than you did last night?”
    Morrolan considered this question carefully, and at length he said, “Yes. I do. It is difficult to describe—”
    “You feel as if there is a presence, just past the corner of your eye. You feel almost as if you were being watched, but by a benign presence. You feel as if you had a way of touching something that you didn’t have before, only there is nothing there to touch. Does that come close?”
    Morrolan considered for a moment, then said, “No, I cannot say that it does.”
    “Well, you are right; it is difficult to describe.”
    “Yes.”
    “At all events, your soul is now consecrated to the goddess, so that anything you do, you do for her. And anyone who